Never Change
by RoseRed Tittyfish
Summary: There are some things that just never change. Somewhat historically accurate. TurGre oneshot. T for mentions of nudity (nothing explicit) and I guess gore. Historical tags to 1999 Athens earthquake and the Rhodes earthquake of 1481.


**A/N: So, this is my first posted hetalia fic. i just want to say sorry in advance for the poor editing because it's 4 am where I am right now ;-; anyway, enjoi c:**

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The personification of Turkey awoke to the bedsheets shuffling around him, and cracked an eye open to see a disheveled-looking Heracles slipping out of bed. He glanced at the clock. 2:56 AM. _Great_.

"Damn brat," he mumbled in his native tongue, rolling over to go back to his sleep, which was oh-so-rudely interrupted by the Greek. He sighed contentedly when the room fell into silence. A small thump, however, broke the silence. Turkey growled, irritated by having his sleep disrupted, and rolled over just in time to see Greece on his knees on the floor. The Turkish man cocked an eyebrow and opened his mouth to make a remark about how he was being a pussy, and that he shouldn't be _that_ sore, stupid kid, but was interrupted by Greece throwing his head back and emitting a blood-curdling scream.

Sadiq's eyes widened behind his ever-present mask. What was going on? Disregarding his nakedness, he threw the covers off of him dashed to his geographical neighbor. Heracles' body was spasming haphazardly, and he still hadn't stopped screaming. Blood dripped past his full, lush lips and down his chin, leaving sickly crimson trails across his sunkissed skin. Tears of agony streamed freely down his cheeks, dripping from pained and pleading olive-green eyes. He let out a cough and sent blood spraying into the Turk's face. Turkey ignored it and quickly lifted Greece into his arms, rushing back to the bed. Heracles' legs were flying out of control and Sadiq had to work to control them, pinning them under his own body to stop Greece from hurting himself. He looked up from tanned thighs to see Greece's arms bent, hands clawing at his chest, at his heart. His nails were leaving angry red marks and were rapidly growing more aggressive. Turkey watched in horror as the Greek man's blunt nails tracked over his chest, leaving trails of crimson liquid in their wake.

Athens, Turkey thought. Something was going on in Athens. A nation's heart represented their Capital. But what was going on that could cause the nation such pain? Certainly Greece would've felt any political uprising hours before. He firmly gripped Greece's wrists and tore them away from his chest to prevent any further damage. The blood had started to drip from Heracles' nose now, and he still attempted to thrash around. His screams hadn't died yet, but his voice was beginning to crack with the strain. This was one of those times when Turkey was glad he worked well under pressure.

He quickly and efficiently slipped his hands under the other man's back, flipping him to sit in his lap, their bare chests pushed together. Heracles' nails were digging into his back now, wildly clawing at the caramel-coloured skin, and the younger man's blood was smearing into his chest, but he ignored both of them, instead focusing on just keeping him as still as possible. He even dared to whisper a '_shh, kitten_' in hopes that it would help. He continued to whisper words of comfort, or at least what he hoped was comfort, silently praying to Allah for this all to be over.

And precisely twenty-two terrifying seconds after it began, it ended. Greece stopped writhing and thrashing, stopped scratching at Sadiq's back, stopped screaming; he just stopped. His head fell limply onto Turkey's shoulder, his body wracking with pants and an occasional sob as the pain wore down. And Sadiq held him. He threaded his finger's through Heracles' curly locks of hair, tucking the top of the younger Nation's head under his chin. He couldn't remember a time, at least before they started their frienemies-with-benefits type relationship, when he'd held Greece without harmful intentions. It still felt vaguely uncomfortable to the Mediterranean nation. He didn't let go, however. He didn't know how long he sat there, running fingers through dark hair, rubbing across the tense muscles of his back and neck.

After a while, Turkey figured that he should probably clean the blood from them both, as it was beginning to dry. He made a move to push Greece off of him, but the younger nation let out a very unmanly whimper and tightened his arms around Sadiq's neck. The turk's eyes flicked to the bathroom door.

"Get off," he told Heracles.

"C-Can't," came the rasped response.

"Hera, you have blood all over you. We need to clean up"

"Too tired."

Turkey sighed and laid back, pulling Greece down with him. The smaller nation rested his head on a slightly bloody, muscular chest.

"What happened?" Sadiq asked. There was a long pause.

"Earthq-quake." That was bad. He'd probably have to take Heracles to a hospital, where, believe it or not, there were doctors specializing in their kind.

He glanced to his nightstand, where he saw up a half-full (or was it half-empty?) bottle of water. He grabbed it and half-sat up, lifting the bottle to Heracles' lips. A trembling hand placed itself upon Sadiq's own, tilting the container until the clear liquid slipped past his lips and disappeared down his throat. He grimaced at the metallic tang of the blood on his tongue. His shaking hand dropped to Turkey's chest, fingers grazing over a hard pectoral.

"Sadiq," he began sluggishly, "Can we-" he broke off into a hoarse fit of coughing. Turkey lightly pounded at his back, although Greece cringed away from the touch, earning a hasty apology from the Turk. Heracles simply waved it off.

"Can we sleep?" Came a croak from the Greek nation. He looked into exhausted green eyes and found, surprisingly, that he was just unable to say no to those jade orbs that so desperately pleaded with him. Sadiq nodded, moving to roll the other off of him. When that was met with a grunt of protest and fingers clenched in the hairs at the nape pf his neck, he sighed, laying back once again. He placed the near-empty water bottle back on the nightstand and very, very gingerly wrapped his arms around Heracles' waist. He was met with a chaste kiss and the sound of shuffling as The grecian adjusted himself on top of his chest.

Greece fell asleep within a few minutes, although his breathing remained laboured. Turkey skittered his fingers lightly over Heracles' ribs, hoping to feel a break without having to push down. However, there was no such luck. His golden eyes slid shut behind his mask and he lifted a hand to his face, scratching at his stubble. The Turk felt Greece shivering, despite the face that the room was pleasantly warm, and slowly pulled a blanket up over them. He allowed a small smile to grace his lips as Heracles snuggled into his chest, nuzzling it like a kitten would.

Sadiq felt himself doze off, on the edge of sleep, when the phone began to ring. The Turk's eyes shot open, brows furrowing. _Who the **FUCK** Is calling me at **THREE IN THE GODDAMN-** oh._ His anger began to dissipate as the pieces fit themselves together in his mind.

Silently thanking Allah for his cordless telephone that he'd conveniently left on the nightstand, he reached for it, only to find that it had fallen. Shit. Greece was beginning to stir from the noise and his movements. He slid a leg off the side of the bed, feeling for it with his toes. Only a few more rings now, and it would go to his answering machine. His big toe grazed plastic. _A-ha!_ He picked it up between his toes and lifted it just far enough to reach his hands. His answering message began to play from the next room.

_Hello, you've reached-_ "Hello?" He answered.

"Turkey?" Came a female voice. Ah, just who he'd expected.

"That's me. Hello, Cassandra."

"Is Greece with you?" The woman spoke with venom on her tongue.

"Yeah." The woman seemed exasperated.

"Can I _talk_ to him?"

"Nope."

"Why _not_?" Her tone grew angry.

"He's asleep."

"Well, is he at least _alright_?"

"Yeah, kid started freakin' out and spazzin' on me, but I got it covered. Don't you worry yer little face, he ain't gonna die or nuthin. He'll be hurtin' fer a while, though." He could practically hear Cassandra's eye twitching in irritation. He knew everything he said or did annoyed her.

"Fine, but if you don't get him help-"

"Cassie, relax, I got it."

"Do _not_ call me that. Just make Greece is safe."

"He's fine, Cassie." He hung up.

He glanced down to find that, miraculously, Greece had slept through his entire conversation.

Sliding his eyes shut once more, he absentmindedly rubbed Heracles' back. It was then that he found he couldn't sleep. Turkey's brow furrowed. He resigned himself to his fate and opened his eyes, gazing at the Greek once more. He couldn't describe what he was feeling when his eyes landed on the man lying atop him.

His expression. His position. The way his fists lay on his chest. It was all too familiar. Sadiq's eyes glazed over as he lost himself in his memories.

Heracles had been crying, screaming, bleeding profusely. He called for his mother but his cries were stifled by a mixture of mucous and blood. The child rolled on the flood, anything to get rid of the unbearable agony coursing through his veins. He puked blood, and Sadiq remembered repeatedly slamming his back in order to prevent him from choking on the bile in his throat. The other, er, residents of the Ottoman Empire watched, terrified, as the child writhed in pain. Turkey had been the one to take action, to lift the child into his arms and subdue him.

Heracles had almost died. The damage to his body and the loss of 30,000 of his people was nearly too much for him to take. He was sick with fever for a long while, constantly asking for his mother

_"Can I see her?"_

_"Why won't you let me talk to mama?"_

Every day was different, it seemed. One day he was cold, shivering and grabbing the nearest warm thing near him. Sometimes he'd lie naked and pant, ending up unconscious from the heat. Sometimes, he was delusional, talking to his "mother." Sometimes, he'd refused to eat, others he would be like a bottomless pit, devouring anything edible. Turkey remembered every bit of it. But what stuck out the most in his memory was how he would hold the child, bringing him to his personal quarters and letting him lie there, with him. On him. Greece would always lay atop him, head on one side of Sadiq's chest, one hand fisted on the other side, resting just near his head. He shuddered as he snapped back to reality. He tugged Greece tighter against his body. Apparently he'd been crushing Greece, for he heard a grunt, and when he looked up, he saw confused green eyes. He looked deep into them.

"Stop squeezing so hard, bastard," Heracles croaked. For just a moment, Turkey saw not an adult, but a child sending a confused look, heard a high pitched voice cursing at him. For reasons unknown to Heracles, Sadiq smiled. Some things just never changed.

"Never change, Hera." He pressed his forehead to the other's. Heracles, who was one gifted in the art of "sensing the mood" courtesy of Japan, just went with the flow.

"Alright."


End file.
